


Gloved Lightning

by Temve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, could be read as dubcon but Qui ends up loving it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/pseuds/Temve
Summary: To say that Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn fell that day would have been oddly prophetic.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Gloved Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Teapirate's devastatingly sexy [Sith Obi-Wan art](https://teapirate.tumblr.com/image/617302306739863552). 
> 
> Okay, I'll admit I had a trying day at work and took it out on Padawan Jinn, because Padawan Jinn is damn durable, and also has a boundless capability for mixing pleasure and pain. Yes, this is shameless Sith porn. 
> 
> Since it involves seduction of someone who didn't _mean_ to get into this situation, please tread carefully if dubcon is not your thing. I assure you no Qui-Gons were harmed in the making of this fic.

To say that Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn fell that day would have been oddly prophetic.

Not that it looked in any way out of the ordinary to the bystanders - they saw a tall young man, one of the Jedi who had been sent to oversee the inauguration of the brand new joint government and surely enjoying a few moments of personal time wandering the parks of the capital, away from the watchful eye of his improbably even taller Master. 

They saw him stumble as if struck on the head by nothing, and crumple softly to the ground. They saw, with approval in their glance, people rushing to help. They saw him picked up and carried off in strong arms, no doubt to safety. 

They went about their business, full of hope. A young man had fallen, and been picked up.

* * *

It was an odd tingle in his face that Qui-Gon noticed first as he drifted back into consciousness. Around his mouth. Distracting. Forcing himself to shut off the sensation and take stock of his body, he was horrified to find his hands appeared to be immobilized. He was seated on something, with his thighs spread and ankles attached to something else below. A slight chill on his skin told him his clothes must have been severely damaged - and something, something incredibly insistent and increasingly impossible to tune out, was _eating his mouth_.

When he did get his eyes open, he found that his assailant was at least a human, though the increasingly urgent tingle and burn on his face was much, much more intense than could have been explained away by the man’s beard. And the sheer possession of his mouth was much, much more intense than anything that could even loosely be termed a kiss.

“Oh good, you are awake. Welcome back among the living, my young Jedi.” Qui-Gon shivered with the sensation of the warm breath that carried those words, spoken indecently close.

“Where am I? What is this?” Qui-Gon, out of his depth, suddenly knew better than to endanger himself with questions before taking stock of the situation, and fell silent. The man simply smiled.

It was a smile like a thin metal blade, its sparks flying as far as the crinkled amber eyes and setting the man’s facial hair on fire with an urgent copper glow. Everything else about him appeared to be sheathed in unforgiving black, from the neat stand-up collar of his tunic to the soft cloak draped elegantly around his shoulders, so dark it seemed to eat the light. His hands appeared to have been dipped in something supple and matte that only reluctantly took on the appearance of gloves under closer scrutiny; if it hadn’t been for the tiny wrinkles appearing at the base of the man’s thumb, Qui-Gon would have suspected his skin was permanently stained a velvety black.

His forearms were encased in intricately wrapped straps that stood out purely by virtue of being a slightly shinier black. Like the gloves, they appeared to be part of the man’s body more than an item of attire, and Qui-Gon shuddered at how clearly visible the easy play of muscles under them was. _There was menace in those hands, definitely._

His own sorry state of attire only came into focus as one of those magnetic hands reached forward to tip up his chin, amber eyes watching him appreciatively. 

Qui-Gon swallowed against the sudden wave of heat that rose in his belly, acutely aware of something constricting his throat in a way he knew no Jedi tunic would. 

“Ah, you’ve noticed.” The smile flickered on and off. “Good.” A gloved hand trailed from his chin to the top of the collar, caressing what appeared to be a wide band of metal that was perfectly molded to the contours of his neck. “And before you ask, no, this is not a Force suppressing collar. I’m not a _barbarian_. It is however immune to being manipulated using the Force. And since your hands are currently otherwise occupied…,” he gestured at where Qui-Gon’s hands were captured in cuffs of similarly devastating perfection, shackled to the sides of the seat he was sprawled on.

A soft snicker. The man in black, when he was smiling, looked barely five years older than Qui-Gon himself. “Damn, got distracted there for a second. Please tell me you’ve made plenty of people happy with those hands already? Not that I mind teaching you, but… what a tragic waste of the gifts of the Force that would be.”

“The Force.”

“Yes,” the man replied simply, his tone soft and cultivated, unsettlingly so for one who had evidently shackled and collared Qui-Gon while he’d been unconscious. “You are quite the beacon, my young Jedi. You inspired my… appetite.”

Qui-Gon scrambled for something dignified to say to that. “I am... injured,” he finally managed.

Amber eyes flickered down to where blood had trickled from a gash in Qui-Gon’s thigh, painting stark red lines on his pale flesh where his pants had been shredded.

“Yes, I may have been… a little overly enthusiastic.” The man laughed softly. “Can you blame a human for wanting to get to _that_ as quickly as possible?” A small black blade appeared from somewhere in the wrappings around his left forearm, and a wickedly sharp trail of sensation whispered up Qui-Gon’s other thigh, silently parting the remaining fabric there, exposing more skin.

“What do you want from me?” Qui-Gon ground out. The direction this was taking was making him uncomfortable, if only because the man was at a clear advantage, armed, and terrifyingly attractive. If there wasn’t a sharp blade currently approaching his most tender parts, he would not have been able to rein in a… natural reaction.

“A natural reaction,” the man purred. “Let us work with that. I would welcome one, and I suspect so would you. Listen to the Force, bright one.”

Qui-Gon tried, ruthlessly tamping down the wave of sensation sloshing around his body. The man had a point… the Force felt different in this place. _Tasted_ different, thick and sticky on his tongue, something that filled him to bursting and made him want to squirm.

Squirm, but not run. And that was the strangest part of it all.

Nothing his captor was doing made any sense - well, none of his reactions to what the man was doing made any sense. There should not be an inherent magic to watching a long shiny strap slowly being unwound from around a strong forearm and then lovingly and mercilessly tied around his balls and shaft by nimble gloved hands until Qui-Gon wasn’t sure what was pleasure and what was pain any more.

Even if he had been cut off from the Force, he would have seen with his own eyes that his body craved the touch; as it was, he was a throbbing vortex of primal need swirling around where his cock and balls pulsed in their bindings, leeching raw energy from the tight grip that was equal parts touch and torture.

When the gloves came off, Qui-Gon screamed for what felt like minutes, until he ran out of breath, gasping through a tear-stained, semen-stained explosion of unbearably intense sensation. Blinking his eyes clear, he saw the last of the spiky patterns of thin red lightning dancing on his skin like spiderwebs, emanating from fingertips that appeared to be made of cool red alabaster.

“Impressive.” The black-clad young man smiled his sharp delicious smile, and Qui-Gon felt something inside him give. He _wanted_ , with every fiber of his being. Wanted to be touched, tortured, taken, wanted to be the focus of those amber eyes and those marbled red fingertips.

“I know,” the cultivated voice continued. “That is why I chose you. Though I’d love it even more if you gave yourself permission to say it out loud. Your voice is a thing of beauty, Jedi.”

“Please.” Qui-Gon startled at how broken his voice sounded. How wanton. How _right_.

“Please what?” The man seemed genuinely amused. Pleased even. “Do I please you? I’m certainly trying my best. Or is this the lovely sound of you begging for more of me?”

“...more.” Almost a moan. There was, unsettlingly, no more fear here, no more captor and captive, no more Light and Dark, only cresting waves of Force that started from within him and swallowed him whole.

“Happy to oblige.” A smirk. “Later. Who wouldn’t want to relish the sight of you like this, strung out on sensation and quite literally dripping with lust?” 

He slipped one glove back on and trailed a finger up the tear track on the side of Qui-Gon’s face. Even shielded by the thin fabric of his gloves, Qui-Gon could feel the soft coolness of those hands. Followed it around his face, to another streak of wetness, and with a small shock Qui-Gon noticed that what the fingertip lifted off his upper lip was blood that had run from his nose. With another small shock that forced him to bite back a moan, he watched the man lick the tip of his gloved finger. 

“So rich. I could get drunk on that.”

Qui-Gon knew he was going to go under any minute now, and _love_ it. This latest assault on his senses had at least given him a last chance to think of something other than his boundless desire for this strange man and his Force-filled hands. 

“What do you want with me?” he rasped. “To drink my blood?”

A soft laugh. “There are so many better uses for one like you, my young Jedi. And more sustainable ones.” He quirked a sharp eyebrow. “Your stamina is… encouraging. You will be a true treasure.”

“A treasure to whom? What are you holding me for?”

“The future?” That smile again. “A bright one, I dare say.”

“Seems everything about you is dark.”

“Oh, that’s just a style choice, my boy. The path I have prepared for you is not one of darkness, is it now?”

“How am I supposed to know?” _Know_. What a ridiculous concept.

“Sense, Jedi. This is the Living Force, but not as you know it. There’s… more of it. Think of it as me having unlocked you, little Jedi.” A dismissive wave of disturbing-colored hands. “Though you hardly qualify as little, do you now? Or as a Jedi, if I play my cards right.” A flourish of red-veined fingers.

“What... happened to your hands?”

“Enlightenment.” There they were again, the dancing veins of lighting, and now Qui-Gon could see them emanating from within the man’s fingers, sparking out of his fingertips. “Unrestrained dedication to the Force. Passionate use of its bounty.”

“Sith arts.”

“Indeed. I prefer to think of myself as unaffiliated with the dour revivalists of the Bane line though; much more fun to drift about the galaxy picking off the cream of Force users for one’s own little empire, wouldn’t you say?”

A sudden touch of the man’s ungloved hand sent Qui-Gon reeling with sensation, arching up out of the chair, balls drawing up dangerously tight in their bindings. He couldn’t hold in the whimper that escaped; hoped in vain it sounded like pain. Even though it was. Partly. 

He was also still (again?) desperately hard, swimming in thick, deep red sensation, and entirely uncertain of how many times he had orgasmed in the time he had been at the mercy of the Sith’s hands. _More than in my entire life until that point, anyway._

“Oh yes,” the Sith remarked blissfully. “You might be my best one yet. What a fantastic addition to the collection you will make. Or should I say, collective? It’s not like you will be serving me exclusively, more’s the pity. Not that I mind sharing - serving the Force and each other is what we do. And those hands of yours deserve to be employed as weapons of mass distraction. I’d love to see what you can do with them when you come into your own. Also, and I’m certain that is not something the Jedi have ever informed you of, but your mouth should be illegal in several galaxies.”

With no warning, the Sith’s mouth descended on his, the bristles of his beard sparking wild flashes of excitement across his skin before warm insistent lips closed over his, setting his mouth on fire and welcoming each gasp and moan as Qui-Gon fell into the vortex of maddening delight, giving and giving until there was nothing left, no more voice, no more breath, no more tears, just a quivering nucleus of abject joy, his body jerking helplessly in his restraints, the pain eclipsed by blinding pleasure and _happiness_ like he was, in this very moment, making love to the entire galaxy.

When he resurfaced, the tuneless hum of the Sith’s soft tenor resolved into words. He was fairly certain he heard the word ‘mine’ in there. Several times.

Qui-Gon couldn’t bring himself to admit it out loud yet, but the Sith was right. So very right. “They will come for me, you know? The Jedi,” he offered quietly.

“I should certainly hope so. I would love to watch you take them apart. And make them come for you the way you came for me. You are a force of nature, my young… no, it doesn’t feel right to call you a Jedi any more. What is your name, my lovely tall young man?”

“Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn.” Even his own voice sounded like a caress now, like thick dark wet velvet.

“Wonderful to meet you, Qui-Gon Jinn.” He felt his unresisting hand being picked up in one of the Sith’s own and realized belatedly that that must have meant he had been released from his restraints. “My name is Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon got as far as the “oh” in “Obi-Wan” before he melted completely into the handsome Sith’s hands, one freeing his tortured genitals with a cool gentle touch while the other brought his own hand to Obi-Wan’s lips. Sparks danced on his skin, _inside_ the back of his hand, down his spine and into his pulsating, hungry center.

Breathless, screaming, electrifyingly happy minutes later, Qui-Gon picked himself up off the floor, standing proud in the tattered remnants of his clothes, trails of blood and semen and tears painting his skin. 

He had never felt more alive.

He reached out a hand, and watched in awe as a small red spark leaped from Obi-Wan’s fingertips to his. 

“I am with you, Obi-Wan.”


End file.
